


My Sister Sent to Me (12 Days of Christmas)

by AwkwardTiming



Series: Christmas Album [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Hand Jobs, Harry was trying to help, M/M, Masturbation, Neighbors to Friends to Lovers, Oral Sex, Sex Toys, Sherlock has questions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-09 16:44:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5547776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwkwardTiming/pseuds/AwkwardTiming
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry wants to help John explore his sexuality, now he's back in London. She finds a website offering a special Christmas package - 12 days of presents geared for homosexual men.</p><p>She just got the address slightly wrong.</p><p>John goes to 221B to retrieve his present and meets his neighbor for the first time. Sherlock, as it turns out, has questions.</p><p>(This story is a stand alone)</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Sister Sent to Me (12 Days of Christmas)

\------------  
John answered his phone as he finished the paragraph he was reading, eyes not straying from the page to check who it was. “Hello?”

“John?”

“Yeah, Harry. Hi,” he flipped the page with one hand. “How are you?”

“Hi. Are you home?” Harry sounded excited. It made John nervous.

“Uh, yeah. Have been all day. Have the next few weeks off since the clinic is closed, remember?”

“So, did you get it?” She sounded excited, so John set his phone down to pay attention.

“Get what?”

“The package. I got notification it was deliver about half an hour ago, but I was in a meeting.”

“No package. Mail hasn’t come yet.”

“No, it was a special courier. Are you sure? Maybe you nodded off and it’s at your door?”

John crossed to the door to check, though he knew he hadn’t fallen asleep – even if he had, a knock on the door would have woken him. After confirming that there was, in fact, nothing on his doorstep, he asked, “Are you sure you have the address right?”

“Of course. It says right here, ‘Delivered to 221B.’ The notification says it was delivered at 2:45.”

“I’m in C, Harry.” John smiled to himself. He’d have to go retrieve the package at some point. Or ask his landlady to do it. At least her excitement had to do with something positive. It didn’t always. 

“Oh.” At his sister’s vaguely distressed tone, John’s heart dropped.

“What?” John asked, frowning.

“Um, you’ll probably want to retrieve it.”

“Well, yeah.”

“No, I mean. Your name wasn’t on the exterior of the package, but…”

“Strange. What is it?”

“Well, you remember what we were talking about the last week at brunch?”

“Breakfast, Harry. It was 7:30 in the morning.”

“Brunch sounds better.”

“Anyway, no, not particularly.” Something tickled at the back of John’s mind. “Wait. You mean…”

Harry grew defensive. “I just thought that maybe if you had some things to explore that side of your interest you might, I don’t know, actually do it. Try it. You’ve hovered around it for ages.”

“Harry, I said I would figure it out in my own time. A toy isn’t going to change that. On the other hand, most websites that sell these things are generally pretty discreet. Maybe I’ll just leave it with my neighbor, since I’m not identified anywhere.” She was quiet on the other end of the line. Too quiet. “What?” he asked, suspicious.

“Well, your name’s not on the outside.”

“But?”

“It was a special, John. A really great – and I thought you’d like it.”

“What?”

“It’s… personalized. Your name’s not on the outside, but it’s …”

“You put John on it?”

“John H. Watson, yeah.”

“My full name? What is it, exactly?”

“Oh, today was lube. Personalized with scents and flavors. Different types.”

John breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh. That’s not so bad. I mean, personalized lube is probably a little strange, but that’s ok.” Something clicked. “Wait. Today?”

“Yeah. It’s a whole ‘Twelve Days of Christmas’ thing. Tomorrow’s better. It’s…”

“Twelve days?”

“Yeah, one delivery every day, up to Christmas Eve.”

“Right. You need to change the delivery address while I go attempt to retrieve the package. Call me back when you’ve done it, yeah?”

“Don’t you want to know about the others?”

“Not particularly, no.”

“Oh.”

“I … appreciate the thought,” John attempted to sound grateful or at least placatingly appreciative, “but I really do need to go apologize to my neighbor and retrieve this mistaken delivery. Just let me know when you’ve got it all switched around. Or, you know, feel free to cancel the order.” He hung up the phone after a quick goodbye and slid his feet into shoes to head up to B, working out what exactly he would say in his head as he went.

He’d never actually met his neighbor. He knew that Mrs. Hudson, the landlady, thought the world of the other man, but also lamented his behavior. Still, couldn’t be all bad if she liked him. Hopefully it’d just be a bit of a laugh and John would apologize for disturbing him and get the lot back to his apartment in no time. Hopefully Harry would have got things all straightened out and he could go back to his book.

The door to B was stood open. As he lifted a hand to knock, a deep voice called out, “I’m in the kitchen, come on through.”

John felt awkward about entering the home of someone he didn’t know, so he opted to reply from where he was, “Sorry, I’m…”

“John H. Watson, I assume. Please, do come in. This is fascinating.”

John stepped into the room and followed the voice to the kitchen where a variety of small containers were open on the table. John felt a brief annoyance that his neighbor was going through a package clearly intended for John, but was struck silent at the sight of the man himself.

Though it was well into the afternoon, he was barefoot and wearing loose fitting pyjama bottoms and a t-shirt that strained on his arms and ended just before the waistband of the bottoms. His hair was a riot of messy curls. John hadn’t been entirely sure what, if he ever acted on his theoretical interest in men, would be his type. Looking at his neighbor, he had a flash of what that type might be. 

John’s eyes focused in on what he was looking at – it appeared to be a small cylinder of something. 

Which was shaped like a small drum.

Sodding hell. 

“Uh, hi.” John said, trying to ignore the way the other man was spreading the slick substance between his fingers before bringing them up to his mouth to taste.

His neighbor looked up. “I believe these were misdelivered.”

“Er, yes.”

The other man looked back down. “I didn’t realise there was such a variety of products in this arena. I tried to find the contact information for the manufacturer to order a set for myself to explore viscosity and absorption rates, but couldn’t.”

“Right.”

“Do you have the information?” he looked back to John.

“No, it was a gift from Harry.”

“Oh. Does your boyfriend not know what you like? At least it is a thorough gift for a new relationship.” He sounded almost disinterested in the whole proceeding, beyond wanting information about the product itself. How that could be the case John found a bit hard to sort out. The man was fondling and tasting lube.

There were so many things John wanted to correct that he was momentarily struck dumb. In the end, what he said was, “Harry is my sister.”

“Ah. Sherlock Holmes, by the way, since you are in my flat.”

“Yeah, look, I thought maybe I could just pick up my package from you?” John was becoming uncomfortable and was eager to get back to his phone where he could call Harry and confirm that there would be no further shipping mishaps.

“Right.” With swift, economic movements, Sherlock closed the containers and packed them back into a larger drum-shaped package with John H. Watson in gilt along the side before placing it carefully back in the shipping box. He handed John the box. “Best luck discovering your favorite. The cinnamon is a bit tingly, but could be interesting. The honey is,” Sherlock licked his lips, then rubbed his thumb over the bottom one before saying, “delicious.”

John gave a quick nod, took the box, and made his way hastily back to his flat. His phone had a message from Harry. “Can’t cancel or change address.” When he tried to call, her phone went straight to voicemail. With resignation, he set it back down and pulled the drum out of the box. 

The card in the box read, “A drum of delights to help you find your rhythm.” The enclosed information indicated that the company specialized in “homosexual male sex aids.” John found the phrasing strangely formal.

John returned to his chair where he made progress of roughly one page per half hour between glancing at the box and thinking about his neighbor’s tongue licking fingers slick with flavoured lube.

He skipped dinner and had an early night. Without Harry’s present.  
\-----------  
He’d nearly forgotten about the package until the bright red drum caught his eye as he went to make a second cup of tea in the morning.

Tea acquired, he grabbed his laptop to look up the lyrics to Twelve Days of Christmas. It looked like the series was working its way back from 12, since it had started with the drum and not some play on a bird. Right, so that would make today’s charming addition… pipers? John thought but could come up with nothing that made sense to have 11 of. Not that 12 containers of lube seemed necessary. Surely there couldn’t be that much difference.

Remembering Harry’s message, he ran up to let his neighbor know there would be a package every day and that he could just leave them outside his door and John would retrieve them. He received no answer, so he returned to his flat for a bit of card and left the message taped to Sherlock’s door.

Everything sorted to the best of his ability, he settled in to finish his book and forgot all about the package that would be arriving later. There was a knock at his door near 4 and it occurred to him, when he saw the time, that he ought to go check Sherlock’s once he found out who was at the door. 

Sherlock was at the door, as it turned out, a set of thin metal rods in a leather case in his hands.

It took John a moment to register what he was seeing and from there it was only a short stretch to see how Pipers Piping had become a set of eleven sounding rods in graduated sizes.

Before John could come up with a response to Sherlock’s presence, Sherlock said, “Can you explain how these work? I tried to look it up, but the videos were frankly confusing and the written instruction was no better. I have determined that the products from yesterday would be inappropriate.”

“Yes, right. Um.”

“So I have brought you this,” Sherlock handed John a tube of medical grade lubricant.

“Uh.”

“I was concerned that if your sister felt you needed so much help you might not be aware of the importance of the correct choices for lubricant and several sources recommended this as preferable.”

“It wasn’t… that’s not why she did this.”

“Oh. So, can you explain how these are used? As a doctor, surely you are aware of the process?”

“Um. Yeah. Broadly speaking. Would you like a cup of tea?” John offered in a rush, feeling vaguely desperate to where Sherlock was running his fingers over the smooth metal tools.

Sherlock looked up and tilted his head questioningly, “Is tea normal for this sort of discussion?”

His earnestness made John chuckle warmly. “No idea. But I need a cup if I’m going to talk about this with a relative stranger.”

Sherlock nodded and went back to his study of the sounds.

In the kitchen John set about making two cups of tea. “Milk or sugar?” he called out to his guest.

“Sugar. Two, please.” After a moment, “The card with these was odd, by the way. It reads, ‘Enjoy piping your pipes with these sounds of the season.’ It’s a reference to something, I suppose.” 

“Uh, yeah. Harry said it was a play on the Twelve Days of Christmas.” 

“Ah.”

While John prepared the tea, he thought about everything – not much truly – he knew about sounding, both from a medical and non-medical stand point. He knew the variety of things that could go wrong, of course. It wasn’t something he’d ever been particularly inclined to try, but maybe he needed to reconsider. Maybe he’d do a bit of research once Sherlock left.

John handed Sherlock his cup of tea and sat down opposite Sherlock. “So. You have questions? Mind, I may not be able to answer them. I’m hardly an expert on this.”

“Sounding, from what I understand, is the process of inserting something into the urethra. I gather that, from a medical perspective, it is done to locate or potentially dislodge blockages.”

“That is essentially correct.” John relaxed back into his chair. Sherlock was so matter-of-fact that, aside from some lingering general uneasiness at the topic itself, John found himself less concerned about the conversation.

“From a sexual perspective, it appears that there is pleasure to be gained from the sensation of fullness that this insertion causes.”

“I… yes. I suppose that would make sense.” 

“Sounding can be practiced alone.”

“Yes,” John nodded, frowning slightly. Sherlock seemed to know the essentials, which begged the question about why he was seeking out John’s help.

Sherlock looked up then and John nearly smiled at how young and earnest he looked. “How?”

John’s eyebrows shot up toward his hairline. “Sorry?”

“How does one… insert the sound?”

It was on the tip of John’s tongue to answer “carefully” and stopped himself only by remembering that Sherlock had, in fact, asked for John’s help in understanding. John found himself rather charmed by the other man who seemed inclined to learn all he could about anything that crossed his path. “Essentially the insertion process is straight-forward. You take the smaller end and insert it into your urethra, advancing slowly until you either reach the end or wish to stop.” Sherlock’s head tilted to the side and John continued, “However, there are several things to keep in mind. First, proper preparation. In addition to sterilizing the sounds, you should make sure everything is clean – the towel you put the sounds on prior to your session, hands, genitalia, etc. This also means making sure you’ve had water and voided prior to starting. As you clearly found out, lubricant is absolutely necessary.”

Sherlock nodded and picked up one of the rods. “A partner would make it easier to relax during the insertion process, I imagine.”

John found himself nodding in return. “You are likely correct.”

“I suppose, though, that it may be a matter of motivation. Perhaps, if one lacks a partner, the very nature of the thing and the time it then takes is part of the appeal.” With a final stroke down one of the smaller sounds with the tip of his finger, Sherlock closed the case, handed it and his mug to John, and left.

John sat gaping after him.  
\----------  
On the 10th day prior to Christmas, Sherlock left the package on John’s doorstep with a note.

“Called away. Please let me know if you find these efficacious.”

The card read, “All lords leap at the feeling of these 10 balls dragging gently across their prostate.”

The strand of candy cane striped anal beads had John laughing in his doorway for five solid minutes.  
\---------  
The 9th package John retrieved himself from where it sat, unopened, on Sherlock’s doorstep. Evidently the other man was still out.

John found himself wondering what Sherlock would make of the masturbatory aid that promised to have 9 interchangeable linings modeled after the anal passages of various drag stars. 

The card suggested that he “Imagine these ladies dancing.”  
\--------  
Sherlock was back with the package for the eighth day and John found himself caught up in the story of what Sherlock had been up to – a case with New Scotland Yard involving a missing Christmas ham and a 20 year old fruitcake.

“It’s not even edible at this point, John. I would have said no, of course, but Lestrade promised me cold case files if I helped them wrap it up quickly. Mrs. Hudson has provided biscuits, by the way. I imagine you will insist on tea again. I would very much like to find out what you know about today’s arrival and to ask what the last two days’ offerings have been.”

“Right, yeah. Tea. Be right back then.” John all but launched himself out of the chair. He’d been lulled into thinking perhaps Sherlock was just being social and would just leave the 8th day without wishing for conversation about it.

“If you’re not going to make use of these, would you mind if I took samples of each for my testing?” Sherlock called from the living room.

“Use of what?” John called back after a moment.

“The lubricant.”

“Oh. Uh.” John debated for a moment. While in theory it was fun to try new things, he had some time ago determined that he preferred standard medical grade lubricant to…make things smoother. With that as the case, there was really no reason not to just give the whole thing to Sherlock.

As compensation.

For his trouble.

“Never mind,” Sherlock called out again. “If you do get the name of the company from your sister, though, I would appreciate you passing along their contact information.

“Yeah, right. Actually, you can take the lot.” John returned and handed Sherlock a mug.

“You won’t be able to conduct your own experiments if I take everything,” Sherlock replied with a slight frown.

“I… it’s really fine.”

“Hm.” Sherlock took a sip of tea, then asked, “How did you find the anal beads?”

John choked on his tea and Sherlock gave him a concerned look. 

“Are you alright?” Sherlock asked.

“Yeah, fine. Just… Ehm.” John wasn’t sure what to say. He had, actually, given the beads a go. He thought maybe with a partner they’d be quite fun, but it was difficult to maintain the right pressure and angle and pace on one’s own. He wasn’t entirely sure if his neighbor knew he’d used them or if he was just making idle conversation about the contents of the package.

“I see.”

“What?”

“They are not as effective as a solo aid.”

“Right. Er, no. Not. Not really. So you’ve used them before?”

“No, of course not. But your posture says both that you tried it and that it was not as successful as the card intimated it would be. Additionally, you glanced at my hands, which means you likely thought that they might be better with a partner.”

John blinked, slightly astounded, at Sherlock. He opened his mouth to reply only to snap it closed again. Finally forcing himself to sit back, he replied. “You seem to know a lot about this for someone who has questions about everything these packages contain.”

“Academic knowledge, John. You have a broader base for practical experience, I imagine, with your military background.”

“How… do you know I have a military background?”

“Details. What do you know about prostate milking?”

To John’s credit, the abrupt question didn’t cause him to sputter into his tea this time. “I take it this has to do with today’s package?”

“Yes, of course. Evidently there is a way to stimulate one’s prostate such that ejaculate is produced without climax. You will be pleased to know that today’s item has received excellent reviews online.”

“Great,” John answered dryly. “That’s great. So, I’m afraid there’s really not more to it than that, in terms of essentials. You stimulate the prostate in the right sort of way and…” John let himself trail off, hoping that Sherlock would fill in the other details.

“What does it feel like?” 

“I don’t know. It’s intense, honestly. I had a girlfriend, nurse, a while back who did it for me once. Everything went sort of quiet and became very focused on the sensations involved. I don’t actually remember the climax, just the feeling of being relaxed afterward. Intensely relaxed.”

Sherlock was blinking at him. John felt himself flush and lifted a hand to scratch the back of his neck. Without a word, Sherlock stood, handed John his mug, and left.

Without looking for the card in the package, John made the connection to the maids a-milking in the song.

He wondered how on earth swans would be involved the next day.

Maybe a feather duster.  
\-------  
In the end, day 7 seemed almost tame. It was approximately 8 inches long and an inch and a half in diameter with three speeds.

But it was water-safe and came with non-water-soluble lube.

For swimming.

Sherlock left it on John’s doorstep. The note said, “Boring.”

John agreed and wondered at his disappointment that Sherlock hadn’t wanted to discuss it anyway.  
\------  
Sherlock had taped the card to the top of the box. In spidery handwriting under the printed text, he’d written, “Ridiculous, but do let me know how these work. I was able to track them down online and if you think them worthwhile I may acquire some for myself.”

The card read, “Some special geese laid these tenga eggs, for those times when a partner’s not available or you just can’t wait any longer.”

John was tempted to leave the lot on Sherlock’s doorstep and tell him to do his own experiments.

He’d never thought of himself as a prude, but he didn’t see the need for the things. He’d been masturbating successfully for nearly 23 years, after all.

He didn’t think “the spider” would make that much of a difference.

He was only vaguely chagrined to find he’d had no idea just how much difference the spider could, in fact, make.

He wondered if it would be inappropriate to leave one of the eggs as a gift for his neighbor. He had, after all, asked John to let him know if they worked.  
\-----  
The next day, John’s package was again accompanied by a note.

The note, however, had nothing to do with the package. All it said was, “What does the H. stand for?”

It probably shouldn’t have been a surprise that on the day of “Five Golden Rings” the package contained a gilt, engraved vibrating cock ring with five settings. 

John made himself a cup of tea and sat down to read the enclosed pamphlet. He was generally familiar with what a cock ring was, though he’d never owned one. Once he had finished, he decided that there was no time like the present to give this particular day a try.

First, he tested the various vibration speeds. Then he debated the relative merits of heading to his room or staying where he was in his living room. Ultimately, he decided that he was perfectly comfortable where he was and, after all, wasn’t that one of the benefits of living alone? That he could do what he wanted where he wanted when he wanted?

He grabbed one of the little drums of lube and got settled back in his chair. He opened his jeans and secured the ring. He took a generous dollop of the slick substance and gave himself a few firm pulls before starting the vibration going on the second setting. In his palm, it had felt a bit like Morse code with its series of long and short pulses.

John closed his eyes, focusing on the sensation of flesh on flesh with no particular fantasy or direction in mind. The tightness at the base of his cock combined with the intermittent vibration quickly brought him to the edge. He slowed the movement of his fist to drag it out, enjoying the thrum of pleasure deep in his gut. Part of him wanted to drag it out as long as he could. And part of him wanted to take that final plunge over the edge so that he could do it all over again. As soon as possible.

In the end, a whiff of honey brought Sherlock’s long fingers to mind and John found himself freefalling, gasping for breath as he came. His hands shook as he turned the vibration, painful now on his sensitized flesh, off. He left the hand in the mess on his stomach as he tried to catch his breath, his head against the back of his chair, eyes closed.

As he came back to himself, he realized that Sherlock had come to mind. He didn’t remember consciously noticing the man’s hands, but he wasn’t sure he’d be able to look at them again any time soon without remembering.

John hoped that, with only four days remaining, he might not have to worry about that for a while. And maybe, just maybe, by the next time he saw Sherlock he’d have forgotten all about it.  
\----  
When John opened the door at what he’d come to recognize as Sherlock’s knock, he barely had time to draw a breath to greet his neighbor before Sherlock asked, “If I buy you dinner, can we test today’s gift?”

John gaped, then shook his head. “Sorry? You want to… test a sex toy with me?”

Sherlock looked somehow terrified and embarrassed, colour slowly climbing in his cheeks. “Yes, no. I mean. It’s. Um. It’s voice activated. I wanted to test the range. I was trying to do it on my own, but…”

“You were testing the… toy out?”

“Yes. No. I mean. Just the voice activation. On the couch. I mean it was on the couch. I wasn’t. I was in the kitchen, but I couldn’t tell if it was –” Sherlock stopped talking and shoved the package at John. “Never mind.”

“Wait. No.” John reached out and stopped him. “You don’t have to buy dinner, but we can check the range, if you like.” John kicked himself mentally, wondering what on earth had made him offer.

“I could call for a take-away if you would prefer not to go out. I would feel better providing a meal as compensation for your agreement.”

“As you like.” John shook his head at himself. The whole point of this thing was to explore something he’d been curious about and he was turning down an almost-date with someone he might actually be interested in. “Actually, yes. Let’s go out. Did you want to go now?”

“It’s a bit early for dinner, but yes, if that would be acceptable. I thought maybe wine might help make it less awkward to have you hold a vibrator while I spoke in a different room.”

“So you don’t want to be the one holding the toy?”

Sherlock blushed almost violently. “I might have calibrated it to my voice already,” he said carefully. He rushed to continue, “It can be recalibrated, of course. If you prefer. I suppose you will need to, after, regardless. I am hardly likely to be here when you use it in the future.”

They both paused at that. John shook his head. “Just let me put my shoes on and I’ll be ready if you are.”

Sherlock put his hands in his pockets and nodded. John set the package on the couch and in short order they were on their way to a small Italian restaurant a couple streets away. Sherlock was greeted with familiarity and John found himself utterly charmed by the older Italian man who brought a candle to their table and insisted, to Sherlock’s chagrin, that he was, “Pleased to see Sherlock out with a proper date.” Sherlock tried to explain that John was just a neighbor. The man waved him off and toddled back to the kitchen with a smile on his face.

“So, no girlfriend, then?” John asked with a smile. “Or boyfriend?” he continued.

“Obviously not.”

“I’m a bit surprised, honestly.”

Sherlock started. “Why?”

John thought of the many things he could say, but in the end just shook his head and took a sip of his wine. “So. What do you do? You seem to keep quite odd hours.”

“As odd as a discharged army medic?”

“Odder, possibly,” John replied, but nodded in acknowledgement.

Over pasta and wine, Sherlock and John chatted about Baker Street and London and by the end of the meal, John was relaxed and satisfied and slightly on edge. As they wandered back in companionable silence, John contemplated the series of events that led to his agreement to test out sex toy with someone he was attracted to in a way that was entirely non-sexual.

“Tea?” John asked as they entered his flat. 

Sherlock shrugged out of his coat. “None for me, thanks.”

“Right. So. How does this work anyway?” John shrugged out of his own jacket and draped it on a chair.

“From what I was able to find, there are two models, one that responds to the intensity of noise in a room – allowing it to react to one’s noises leading up to and during orgasm as well as music or other ambient noise. The other, the one that has been included as the ‘calling bird’ of the fourth day, operates on programmed voice commands. Once turned on, the individual whose voice is registered can use previously programmed codes to activate various settings. The information indicates that this can be done from some distance, but the exact distance was not specified. Additionally, I could not determine if walls factored into functional distance.”

“So where do you want me?” John, distracted and amused at the sight of the slim grey vibrator with small blackbirds on it. 

There was a pause. “I thought your bedroom.”

John looked up.

Sherlock cleared his throat. “For maximum range, we would need to be at opposite ends of your flat. I assumed you would prefer to be in your room while I test the range from the various, more public rooms of your home.”

John nodded. “Right. I’ll just head to bed then shall I? Joining me?” John knew he was doing it, of course he did, but it was too much fun to keep his neighbor slightly off kilter. 

“Yes.” Sherlock cleared his throat. “To the door, anyway. I know the immediately proximate range is functional.”

“I’m sure you do,” John murmured. He made his way down the short hall and turned on the light before sitting on the edge of his bed. He flipped the switch to turn it on. “Where do we start then?”

“Do you have it turned on, John?” Sherlock asked from just outside John’s room.

At the sound of his name, the toy started in on a low, gentle vibration. It made his palm tingle slightly and the thought of what that would feel like inside combined with the idea that Sherlock had used John’s name as one of the programed settings made him moan softly.

“John?”

The vibration kicked up notch. John swallowed. “Yeah,” he croaked out. “It’s… it’s on.”

“Good,” Sherlock said. 

The pattern changed, becoming a series of short, gentle pulses. The sort of think that John imagined could keep him on edge for ages, especially if he had nothing touching him. The idea of being restrained in some way while a partner – Sherlock his mind helpfully corrected – took control of his pleasure sent a wave of pure want through him.

“Sherlock?” John all but groaned.

“Yes?”

“It works from that distance?” John said, staring at the toy and debating setting it next to him on the duvet instead of continuing to hold it.

He heard Sherlock move farther away. “More?” Sherlock’s voice was raised slightly, and John found himself enjoying the deep, warm tone of it, even as he registered that the toy had again changed its pattern.

“Yes,” he said again.

“John?” said Sherlock again, still farther away.

The seldomly-indulged exhibitionist in him made John want to set the vibrator on his upper thigh, near the erection now pressing insistently against his fly. See if it would be enough.

He’d just pressed the tip to the junction of his thigh and torso when Sherlock called out, “John?” again.

John gasped out a, “Yes.”

Evidently it sounded like John was in pain, as Sherlock came swiftly back to the room. “Are you o…Oh.”

John swallowed heavily and moved the toy to his side. “It works.”

Sherlock’s eyes were locked on the erection pressing insistently at John’s zipper. “Yes.”

Clearing his throat, John asked, “What’s the last word?”

Sherlock didn’t look up, “Sorry?”

“You said you programmed four words.” John found himself, in turn, staring at Sherlock’s mouth.

“Oh.” Sherlock looked away, then turned to leave. “Thank you, John.”

John stared after him with a bemused smile. He turned the toy off and it joined the previous days’ presents.  
\---  
As John waited for his French Hens, he laid out tea – nothing fancy, just a few sandwiches and a bit of spice cake he’d bought from a bakery on his way home from the store. With any luck, he’d convince Sherlock to come in. Maybe engage him in conversation about something other than the sex toys John’s sister had sent.

Unfortunately, when he went to check on the package – it seemed late today – he found the box outside his door. Sherlock had, once again, left a note. 

“There seems to have been a surprising amount of artistry that went into these. I am assuming you do not have experience with these. Online resources suggest that it is incredibly important to use plenty of lubricant and take your time to prevent tearing.”

The French Hens, as it turned out, were three glass plugs, in graduated sizes, made in France with small, brightly coloured chickens inside the otherwise clear … structure.

John admired the artistry as he ate his sandwiches. The cake he’d put in the refrigerator.  
\--  
John managed to catch the delivery of the turtle dove and convinced the courier to leave it on the ground floor – an easy task as the package was an awkward shape and size.

Sherlock found John, staring at the piece, the door to his apartment open, thirty minutes later.

“What …?” Sherlock began.

“Pillow,” John replied. “A wedge, specifically.”

“It is… oddly shaped.”

“It’s for…” John held up the book of positions that had accompanied the prop. 

“Tantric Delights for Turtle Doves?” Sherlock asked.

John hummed a sort of agreement and acknowledgement. “Can’t test this alone,” John said, still staring at the pillow, which was covered in pairs of doves. He looked up. “Want to help?”

Sherlock flushed and cleared his throat then looked away.

John looked back to the pillow, considering the position on page 43 that promised consistent, pleasant prostate stimulation.

“I was going to suggest dinner,” Sherlock said. “First at least,” he added with a grin when John looked up. “My bed’s bigger, though, if you want to give that a try later.”

“But we’d have to lug it upstairs,” John was back to staring at Sherlock’s lips. They looked soft. Touchable. Kissable. John cleared his throat and met Sherlock’s eyes. 

“Hungry?” Sherlock asked.

“Oh yes,” John felt a smirk curve his lips and took a step closer. 

“Right. Good.” Sherlock was blinking rapidly as John stalked closer still.

Now directly in front of Sherlock and close enough to feel the heat of the other man, John said, “You bought me dinner a couple nights ago.”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t get a goodnight kiss.”

Sherlock’s mouth dropped open slightly and there was a flash of pink as he licked his bottom lip. “No.”

“I’d like one now.”

Sherlock nodded. 

John had thought about kissing Sherlock a couple times. He imaged it would be a little fierce, that Sherlock would be almost precise as a kisser.

The reality was that it was a bit like a dessert he’d had out once. It had been topped with delicately spun sugar that had melted at the first touch of it to his tongue.

The first gentle press of his lips to Sherlock’s found Sherlock curling into John. John urged him closer with a hand on his lower back and sought entrance to Sherlock’s mouth by pressing his tongue to where Sherlock’s had touched just moments earlier. 

Kissing Sherlock was delicate, slightly messy. Sherlock’s mouth held the slightly sweet bite of peppermint. John hummed in pleasure and Sherlock groaned, his hands coming to bracket John’s head.

When John finally pulled back with a final nip at Sherlock’s lower lip, Sherlock looked undone, breathing heavily. He met John’s eyes only briefly before hiding his head in John’s neck. Once he had himself gathered, Sherlock straightened up. 

“You are… quite skilled at that.”

“Kissing is pretty well universal,” John replied, running his hands along Sherlock’s lower back and enjoying the play of muscle under his palms.

Sherlock grinned and pressed his lips quickly to John’s, then said, “There are other things that are fairly universal as well,” as he slid a hand between them to cup John growing erection.

John bucked into the questing hand. “Yes. There is that.”

“Do you still have the honey lubricant?”

“Hm?” John replied, trying to focus around the feeling of Sherlock fingers rhythmically tightening and releasing over him. “Oh, yes.”

Sherlock’s grin was on the eager side of filthy. “You should sit.”

John started to move to his favourite chair, then stopped. “Bedroom?”

“If you like, but you masturbated there a few days ago, yes?”

John sat in the chair. Sherlock returned with the small drum of lubricant and stepped between John’s legs, nudging John’s knees apart before kneeling. He quickly opened John’s jeans and John helpfully lifted his hips so that Sherlock could tug fabric down until he was, once again, bare-arsed in the chair.

Scooping out a small amount, Sherlock wrapped his fingers around John. The pressure was perfect and the heat of someone else’s hand made the sensation more erotic than John could have anticipated. As his orgasm approached, John worked to pull his focus away from the slick movement and the sound of Sherlock panting as he stroked. John desperately wanted this to last just a little longer, so he let his head fall back against the chair only to nearly buck entirely away when the warm, wet heat of Sherlock’s mouth closed around him.

“Sherlock,” John groaned out, thought warring in his head. Concerns – they should sure be using a condom. A struggle to remember every detail for later. A hope that he could return the favour later – not something he’d particularly realized he wanted until that moment. But ultimately everything was pushed aside at the sight of Sherlock’s lips stretched around him and the hum of pleasure he made.

The hum sent John hurtling over the edge.

Sherlock pulled off, his head resting on John’s thigh for a moment before he sat back. Once John opened his eyes, Sherlock said, “The sweetness of the honey makes an interesting counterpoint to the … salt.”

John all but launched himself at Sherlock, pressing the other man back and onto the floor with a kiss. He chased the flavor, salty sweet in Sherlock’s mouth. Sherlock was hard, his erection pressing into John’s thigh as they kissed. John started to move down, but Sherlock held him fast. 

“No, just,” he bucked up into John.

“I’d like to,” John replied. 

“Later, but I … this isn’t going to take much,” Sherlock ground out, panting slightly.

“Can I touch you, at least?”

Sherlock bit his lip and nodded. John eased Sherlock’s zipper down as he went in for another kiss. He flailed slightly until his hand hit the small pot and scooped out a bit, smearing it over the already-damp head and down the shaft.

John was fascinated by the feel of it. He’d thought it would be rather like touching himself. And it was, a bit, but it was also so different. The heat, the texture. It was the same, but somehow better, too. He loved the feeling of the skin becoming firmer by degrees, the gasp as his fingers brushed lower on a down-stroke.

Then Sherlock’s head was pulling away from their kiss as his back arched as he painted his stomach. John pressed kisses to his jaw and neck, watching the man under him twitch as he came back down.

John rested his head on Sherlock’s shoulder. As their breathing evened out, Sherlock asked, “Is there something in particular you want to try?”

“With the wedge?”

“With any of it, I suppose.” He paused for a moment, “Perhaps not with the sounds tonight.”

John nodded. “Agreed.”

“Penetrative intercourse?”

“We would need condoms.” John lifted his head. “Probably should have used a condom before.”

“Why? You’re a doctor and clean.”

“I… how do you know that?”

“Am I wrong?”

“No,” John answered cautiously.

“You would have stopped me if you … if it was compromising.”

It wasn’t really a question, but John answered anyway, “Yes, of course.”

“But we will need condoms if you wish to try penetration this evening.”

“I have had sex before.”

“With a man?”

“Well, no.”

“And?”

“And, yes, I would like to … explore that. In whichever way or ways you like.”

Sherlock went still then pulled away slightly to look at John. “Oh. Oh, you’re serious. I thought. Well. We will need more than what I have on hand.”

“We could stop on the way back after dinner?”

“Yes.” Sherlock shifted and was soon standing, trousers fastened, tugging John to his feet as well.  
-  
Christmas eve morning found John squirming, trying desperately to draw Sherlock’s fingers deeper. 

“Christ, Sherlock, please,” John ground out.

“Patience,” was Sherlock’s reply, just before he replaced the two fingers with three slick digits.

John groaned. The feeling of fullness was everything he’d hoped it would be. He’d tried out the toys, but nothing compared to the feeling of skin, the heat of something human.

He’d tried to get Sherlock to do this last night, but Sherlock had insisted they stick with the role that John was more familiar with for his first time with a man.

His thoughts were promptly derailed as Sherlock dragged his fingers across John’s prostate.

“Now,” John insisted, his heels trying to gain purchase to draw Sherlock closer.

Sherlock chuckled and pressed a kiss to John’s hip. At some point, he’d put on a condom and slicked himself up, so in a single move he slid forward and pressed in. John’s mouth dropped open in a long, low moan.

Sherlock stilled. “Ok?”

“God yeah. You feel fucking perfect.”

Sherlock chuckled and pressed in until fully seated in John. He leaned forward and their lips met in a slow kiss, not breaking apart until Sherlock started to move in long, slow strokes. As John’s breathing quickened, Sherlock brought a hand to stroke him, the stroking of his fist a counterpoint to the movement of his hips.

“Harder,” John encouraged. “Faster. Yes. Yes, like that.” John’s hips moved, chasing contact, friction. Sherlock shifted slightly and John felt fireworks go off behind his eyes as he climaxed, white noise overtaking the sounds of breathing, of flesh on flesh.

As though from a distance, he heard Sherlock groan and stiffen. John peeled his eyes open to watch as Sherlock came apart above him. As his breath evened out, Sherlock pulled away, carefully removing the condom and wrapping it in tissue before collapsing next to John on the bed. John curled into him, running his fingers across Sherlock’s ribs, feeling the heartbeat underneath. He pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s shoulder.

They dozed for a while and went for breakfast together midmorning. Returning to Baker Street, Sherlock went to his own flat with the promise to come down later, with John’s partridge.

John tidied his flat and had just sat down to read when there was a knock on his door.

Sherlock was standing there when he opened the door, a lamp in his hands.

“What’s that then?” John said as he let Sherlock in.

“A partridge in a pear tree, evidently,” Sherlock said. “The base is made of pear wood. The bird is here,” Sherlock turned the light slightly so John could see that there was, in fact, what appeared to be a bird perched on a branch on the side of the lamp.

“I don’t understand,” John said, frowning. “What does a lamp have to do with the theme?”

“It’s…Hold on.” Sherlock plugged the lamp in and clicked a switch at the base to turn it on. It gave off a soft white light. Then he pulled the bird on a branch out and the light switched to a soft red.

“So it’s mood lighting?” John asked.

“Sort of.” Sherlock turned and held out the bird. “The switch is, evidently, a dildo.”

John looked from the bird to Sherlock to the bird and back to Sherlock. He tried valiantly not to laugh, but Sherlock’s lips twitched and then they were both gone.

As their laughter calmed, all John could think to say was, “Oh.”

**Author's Note:**

> 1) I'm terribly about rereading before I post. If you notice errors or think it needs additional tags, please (pretty please) let me know. In comments or at awkwardtiming@gmail.com or on tumblr https://www.tumblr.com/blog/awkwardtiming.
> 
> 2) Thank you ever so much for reading this piece of nonsense. If you're so inclined, I'd love to know what you think.
> 
> 3) The lamp actually exists. It's Love the Bird. See: http://www.dezeen.com/2011/01/01/love-the-bird-by-marc-dibeh/


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